


Reconcile

by Xero_Sky



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Background Character Death, Blood Drinking, Bottom Thor, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xero_Sky/pseuds/Xero_Sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an endless cycle.  Mankind is on the edge of destroying itself again, and old enemies drift out of the darkness.  No one escapes unaffected, not even those who knew this was coming, just as it always has.  </p>
<p>Perhaps there is a little space for hope this time, though.  At least for these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

> I once swore I would never write a vampire porn AU, and yet here I am.

Last night, Thor had fed on one of the homeless people gathered around the great bonfires in the park downtown. There were so many of them these days that this one, new and hovering around the edges of the crowd, had been an easy catch, and still healthy. Thor had let his hunger go too long, and the man's death had been harder than it had to be, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to care, then or now. A few years ago, when he was with Jane, he had prided himself on showing what mercy he could, but these days he knew himself better. Once a monster, always a monster, forever and ever, amen.

 

He hadn't bothered to camouflage the wound, or even to hide the corpse.  What was one more dead man worth now?  It’d be hauled off to the morgue, and the medical examiner would put the cause of death down as unknown, because there wasn’t time or money enough to spend investigating.

 

This afternoon, he was sitting in a plush chair in a private room in an exclusive club, drinking very expensive alcohol while he watched the world rush towards war again on the television.  The sound was turned low, because he'd found he didn't even need to know the names or the places to understand how soon the tanks would be rolling and planes would be in the air.  He'd come to believe that it was just a matter of population control, the way that humans kept their numbers down to avoid starvation.  Jane had once made him see it differently, from the inside, from a place where all of this was a tragedy that had to be fought.  A tragedy that _could_ be fought.

 

He hadn't managed to keep that faith for very long after she died.  Now it just looked inevitable, a season of war to follow a season of peace. Humanity would slaughter itself wholesale, in far greater numbers than his kind could ever take from them, and all he could look forward to was a variation in weapons and standards to keep him interested.  Maybe he'd get caught up in it and die, destroyed by a bomb he would never see coming.  Maybe fires would catch him.  He found it difficult to care about that either.

 

The wine in his glass was dark and utterly unlike blood.  Only fools and poets could mistake them.

 

The day stretched out before him.  Soon enough, night would come.  In a few more turns of that cycle, he would be hungry again, and another human would die to pay for his existence.  It wasn’t guilt he felt, so much as tedium.

 

 One day to the next day to the next.  If the world falls apart, at least he’ll have something to do, finding his way in it.

 

And that’s when he heard it, of course.

 

No human had a heartbeat that slow.

 

Anticipation curled in his belly.

 

The tall, dark-haired man who let himself into the room came as no surprise.  His visitor was a harbinger of the end, after all.  The end of lives, the end of nations, the end of worlds.  The end of his own life, certainly.

 

Thor didn't bother getting up.

 

"Long time, no see," Loki said, settling into a chair opposite him. 

 

Loki had always been lanky, had always radiated strength.  He'd always had green eyes and long, graceful hands.  He was capable of moving faster than anyone could see, but he generally moved like a great cat, lithe and heavy and utterly self-possessed.

 

The suit was probably Armani, or maybe from that Korean designer whose name Thor could never quite remember, though everyone rich and famous was wearing her stuff.  It was ridiculously expensive, of course, and fit him like it. That answered the question of how he'd gotten through the front door of the club in the first place.  With the loose, wavy hair that reached down to his shoulder-blades, his handsome face, and the emerald rings on his fingers, Security had probably mistaken him for a rock star, or maybe some kind of drug lord grown rich enough to be respectable.

 

Thor thought he was beautiful, but then of course he would. It didn't change anything.

 

"You're late," Thor said with casual coldness, by way of greeting.

 

"Late?" Loki asked mildly enough, lifting a brow.

 

"Jane's been dead almost five years.  If you really wanted to twist the knife, you should have come when I could still taste her in the back of my throat."

 

"Bitterness doesn't become you," Loki said, pulling the carafe over to sniff delicately at the wine.  "You knew what could happen."

 

"So?"

 

"So if you'd ever managed to accept your nature, you wouldn't have fallen for a mortal woman in the first place," Loki answered, pouring himself a glass.

 

"How fortunate I am that you're here to lecture me,"  Thor snorted, looking back to the tv.

 

"Indeed."

 

They sat in almost companionable silence for some time, watching humanity brutalize itself on the screen. 

 

Much of central Berlin was on fire, apparently from the riots.  The city of Philadelphia was under quarantine for plague, and people were suffocating in the crowds at the barricades.  Somewhere there were oil wells on fire, billowing poisoned darkness into thickening skies.

 

There was a terrible familiarity to it all.

 

********

 

Thor had been born in England before the turn of the century before this one, and when his country had called, he had gone to war.  Later they would call it the Great War, and the war to end all wars, but it was the same as every war, just writ larger.  Just over twenty years later, another war would come that would put it to shame.

 

His war had done with Thor as it did to so many of its bright sacrifices.  Loki had found him wandering across a field in France, blind in one eye and deaf in both ears, drenched in blood and bile.  He could barely breathe anymore; the shell that had destroyed his trench had ripped the mask from his face as it had thrown him up and outwards into the fog of phosgene gas that had already taken the sun from their sky.  The gas had burned his throat and lungs and given him such sores in his mouth that he could no longer close it. 

 

Loki hadn't even meant to feed on him; he'd wanted, in a rare fit of mercy, to kill him, and set the wandering wreckage of a man to rest.  It was as much a sense of tidiness as pity, truth be told.  Thor had collapsed to his knees, knowing death when he saw it, and his one good eye had focused on Loki's face, wanting to see him, to know.

 

There had been defiance in the blue eye fixed on him, and rage.  Loki had seen beauty and fire under the ruin, and he'd been alone for a very long time by then.  That’s what he would tell himself, later, but he wasn’t sure he thought it through at the time.  He’d simply taken what he wanted. Thor had fainted in his arms when he picked him up and carried him from the battlefield.

 

When he was bathed and bandaged and stronger again, hidden far away in a house Loki had somehow acquired, Loki had taken the life he'd saved, and given Thor another. 

 

Just like he'd given him his new name.  Loki had watched over him tenderly, as he spasmed through the changes, before he'd decided that the name Thor might fit him best. Loki had walked in the world for a long time, and this one held such promise.  A day later, the new one had taken his first kill in a fury, like a firestorm sweeping through dry woods. ‘Thor’ it was, then.

 

Thor had known no sorrow then at what he'd become, only rage.  Of course Loki had fallen in love with him.

 

Thor had tried to kill him again and again, until one day Loki held him down and showed him how else they could fight.  Thor, once the son of a pastor, had been shocked, teary-eyed... and insatiable.

 

By the next war to end all wars, they were inseparable.  They had skated along the edge of death, immune to the misery around them, feeding on the chaos. Loki had made love to him with bombs falling overhead, and he'd said Loki's name like a prayer when he came.  In the morning, they found that the fire crews had been busy, and the bodies of the dead that had been recovered already were laid out in the street like offerings.

 

Love, hate, cruelty, and bliss.  Thor was too young then, still within his natural lifespan, to see it the way Loki did.  For the elder, it was only one more turn in the cycle of appalling destruction humanity wreaked upon itself regularly, just made more horrifying by the new weapons.  To Thor it had been the end of the world, and the two of them had ghosted through it like young gods, sampling danger and death as they would delicacies.

 

The rift between them came years later, when the world’s new peace had begun falling apart again.

 

Loki knew it was coming, but wouldn't deny Thor any of it, not an ounce of anguish.  Thor had no concept yet of how long their lives would be, and he hated Loki for not fighting to stay with him.  He didn't understood how Loki could savor such pain.  The knife rammed into his side as they argued had only punctuated the end.

 

Thor had hated him as deeply as he'd come to love him. 

 

He'd hunted Loki for years, until he'd come to realize the sheer scale of their lives.   Well outside his natural span of years by then, he had begun to understand inevitability. 

 

He'd lived alone and at peace, dallying here and there, not even realizing it when being alone shifted to loneliness, until the day he'd met Jane.

 

Thor had once asked Loki why he'd chosen him, and never really gotten an answer.

 

He'd understood when he first saw her.  The life in her was a brilliant thing, shining and perfect, and he'd been utterly helpless to stay away.  He swore he wouldn't change her, wouldn't bite her, wouldn't bring her across.  She filled the gaps in his soul left by Loki.  She had given him hope.

 

He hadn't been ready for his constant fear of her mortality.  Mortals were so fragile, so easily killed by the things they created, by the world around them, by their own bodies.   By time itself.

 

Poor Jane wasn't afraid of him when he showed her what he was.  She hadn't blamed him when his blood had poisoned her instead of transforming her, either, even though he'd known that could happen, that it happened more often than not.  He'd been so sure...   But he ended up killing her anyway.

 

********

 

"If it's any consolation," Loki said, watching the screen, "she came closer than most."

 

"And how would you know that?" 

 

"Did you really think I wouldn't know how you spent our blood?"

 

Thor snorted dismissively, but that was the only casual thing about him now.  Underneath he was coiling tight, anticipating the spark, the cutting remark that would set them at each other.  Loki was dangerous in so many ways, and his mouth was the deadliest of his weapons.  It would hardly take a spark now.

 

"You will mourn her until the day you forget her face, and then you will mourn that as well.  Savor it," Loki said. 

 

"Like you?" There was more bitterness in those two words than he realized he could still feel.

 

"Exactly like me."

 

They stared at each other, both uncannily still, the flickering lights casting distorted shadows across their faces. 

 

They could stay like that forever, unmoving, unforgiving.  Until the hunger came.

 

"Did you miss me?"

 

Thor thought it must have been him who spoke, but he didn't recall doing it at all.  It didn't matter, though, did it?  The answer was yes.  Unspoken, but unquestionable.  Yes, _always_ yes.

 

He just hadn't quite understood it before.

 

There was a flash of light, and he glanced at the video screen, which was showing a string of explosions down a street in a city somewhere.  There was a crowd there, a riot or a protest, and they died in bright, garish flashes of flesh and blood and fire.

 

"The world ends again, and here we are."  Loki's voice was behind him now, close to his ear.  He didn't flinch, just smiled, and drained his wine.

 

"I want you," Loki said, and there was a flicker of warmth against his ear -- Loki's tongue, darting out to taste him.

 

"Daring," Thor said, seeming contemplative.  "What if I say no?  What if I tell you to piss off for another century?"

 

"Hmm."  Long fingers gently brushed the hair away from his ear, revealing his throat. "I imagine we'd have to fight, then."

 

 

*******

 

The gentleman's club has long been known for both its discretion and the thickness of its walls.  If nothing was done that brought the club to the attention of the authorities or, worse, the press, no questions need be asked.  So if anyone heard the sounds of chairs being overturned and an end table being smashed flat by a falling body, showering the room with splinters of expensive wood, no one would ever say a word.  After all, the gentleman in question always paid his bills in full.

 

Loki was spread out on the floor, long limbs sprawled everywhere, hair in disarray, and he smiled at the monster looming above him.  Thor had always been magnificent, always potent, like a force of nature channeled into human form, but, oh, he's beautiful when he fights.  Or fucks.  To be honest, Loki would have him either way now, and he saw lust and indecision in Thor's unnaturally blue eyes for a moment.  He bared his fangs, running his tongue across one. 

 

Their own blood could not nourish them.  It only brought knowledge of each other, and whetted their hunger.  It was addictive regardless, desirable in every way. 

 

Thor hesitated, torn between wanting and not wanting.

 

Loki took the opportunity to smash Thor's head with a table leg, gashing his scalp, and Thor had to pull back to avoid his teeth. Thor backhanded him, but he didn't have much space, and the blow was nowhere near as brutal as it could have been.  In response, Loki surged up and kissed him, his mouth and body hungry for more than violence.  Thor let him, and then matched him, and they seemed to melt into each other, like they used to, like they always would.

 

Their nature required a hierarchy even if they abhorred it, and so Thor must inevitably be the first to roll over and open himself wide for his elder.  He went with a show of reluctance, but it was a lie, and Loki laughed at him before pulling the clothes from his body.  He took his time with it, revealing the planes and curves of Thor's body inch by inch, watching and leaning down now and then to taste.  Somehow Thor was still golden underneath his touch, and the old hunger returned to him.  He bites quick and hard, making Thor jerk and whine beneath him, and licked the wounds until they seal again.  Thor made noises both quiet and deep, barely audible yet making his chest vibrate, and Loki wasn't at all satisfied with that.  He wanted to hear him whimper and moan; he wanted to hear him beg.

 

Thor watched him, chest heaving, his limbs loose but not at all relaxed, and Loki stripped his own clothing off carelessly, not truly making a show of it but providing one anyway.   Thor wet his lips, and reached to stroke himself, but Loki wouldn't allow it.  He slapped Thor's hand away.

 

"Your pleasure comes from me or not at all," he growled, staring down into his eyes, and Thor considered rebellion, thinking about trying to put Loki on _his_ back, but there was a hard limit between them, and he didn't know if he could cross it, even if he wanted to.  The lineage ran from Loki to him, and the rewards for acknowledging it were already burning sweetly under his skin, making him tremble.

 

Thor had never made any submission but this one, and this was the only one that would ever matter.

 

He closed his eyes, compliant, and then slowly slid his nails over Loki's shoulders and down his back, leaving deep gouges behind that stung and bled and began to heal almost as soon as he finished them.

 

Loki laughed softly, grabbed hold of Thor's arms and pinned them over his head, then lowered his mouth to that strong neck.  Thor tensed up beneath him and arched back in anticipation, but Loki only licked at his flesh and pressed soft kisses against it, until he felt Thor relax minutely.  Then he let his fangs drop and bit hard, making Thor jerk and shake.  He bucked up under Loki, but Loki held him down without sparing it much thought.  Despite the flood of sensation running through him, the last thing Thor was trying to do was escape. 

 

“Ahhnnn-- !”

 

Loki withdrew before he took much. Thor's blood told Loki of his health, his terrifying strength, his sorrow, and his desire.  The taste was unique and potent, and Loki was certain he could not live without it.

 

He licked at the wound on Thor's throat and then drew his fangs over it, knowing full well the throb of pleasure it sent through him.  Thor twisted and groaned gratifyingly, running his hands over everything he could reach. Loki settled between thick thighs and ran his fingers over the soft skin, scratching lightly. He took Thor's sac in one hand and rolled it gently, letting the sharp points of his nails scratch here too, making Thor whine. He knew perfectly well what Loki's nails could do, and his sudden vulnerability was exquisite.

 

Thor was never weak.  Thor was never at anyone's mercy, but he was wide open and nearly begging for attention now. He gasped into Loki's mouth when his elder stretched up to kiss him, and kissed back desperately. He could not get enough of the taste or feel of the man who'd simultaneously saved and ruined his life.

 

Loki licked and bit at Thor's chest, leaving scratches behind and soothing them with his tongue. He found Thor's nipples and tormented them, sucking and biting them raw. Thor tried to sit up, to force Loki's mouth away, but his balls were still held in Loki's iron hand, and there was a warning squeeze, the points of his nails digging in.

 

"Bastard," Thor groaned.

 

"How long has it been since I've had you?" Loki murmured, licking his fingers and reaching down to slide them across Thor's hole. Thor was as tight as if he'd never been touched, and Loki hummed in appreciation. 

 

 "I forget," Thor said, and most likely he had, for dates were strange, arcane things, full of meanings which never applied to them.  It was in their nature to let them go. Loki also knew that Thor had not forgotten their last time together, because those were the kind of memories they could not escape, the true markers of their lives.

 

He remembered Thor spread out beneath him perfectly, incandescent with rage and pleasure both, lost to the world and ensnared by Loki's touch.  

 

"You've never let any other have you this way, have you?"  Loki said, as his clever fingers opened Thor up for him.

 

"Some have tried," Thor said, running a lazy hand down his chest.

 

"But no one else can put my Thor on his back," Loki whispered, smirking, and bent down to lick up the length of Thor's cock as he pulled his fingers free.  Letting go of Thor's sack, he moved into position between well-muscled thighs.  Licking his palm, he slicked up his cock a bit, and then lined up and thrust in with one smooth stroke.  Thor groaned and writhed, settling himself beneath Loki, who, with uncharacteristic, patience, waited for him before they began.

 

Thor was golden beneath him, all long limbs and shifting muscle, and Loki bent down to kiss his mouth, chastely and gently and with more affection than he'd showed him in a century.

 

Thor kissed him back and then pulled away, staring at him.  Then he wrapped his legs around Loki's waist and pulled him in tight, rolling his own hips up to remind Loki why they were there.  Nothing could be solved by fucking, but some things could be begun.  If only Loki would get moving.

 

And Loki did, finally, moving slow and driving in deep.  Thor sighed and ran his hands up and over Loki's chest, pulling him in and letting him go with each thrust.  He made soft sounds that nevertheless rumbled in his chest, and Loki laughed, marveling at the heat and splendor of his lover.

 

Fucking Thor was _such_ a pleasure, one of the best things, the brightest moments in his long life.  Now, when they were joined, and so vulnerable to each other, so irrevocably close, so completely in sync, he could admit to how much he needed Thor to be his.  He could be separated from him, could live at a distance for a century, always watching no matter how far away Thor was, but he would never give him up, even if he could.

 

Maybe Thor saw it in his face, this longing for what he already had.  He pulled Loki forward and down, until he could wrap his arms around him, stilling Loki's hips but holding him tight, silently offering comfort, which was silently accepted.

 

And then Thor took advantage of their position to drive his teeth into Loki's neck, drinking deep. Loki laughed softly and leaned into it, letting him take as much as he could.  After a few seconds, Thor whined deep in his throat, and then reared back, pulling his mouth away, unable to withstand any more of it. Loki gave him no respite, moving into him again sharply as he watched Thor tremble, tears leaking out from under his closed lids as his body adapted to the power of Loki's blood. 

 

When he opened his eyes again, his pupils were blown, rimmed with the thinnest ring of electric blue, and Loki laughed breathlessly, spreading him even wider and pulling him up so he could slam into him that much more force.

 

"Always my greedy darling," Loki said, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.

 

"Give it to me harder," Thor rumbled, the last syllable almost disappearing in a growl.  He grinned, looking almost feral, and Loki obliged him.

 

Everything dissolved into motion, sweat-slick and frantic, as Thor moved wildly under him, his nails digging into Loki's arms, as he struggled to take Loki deeper.  Loki slammed his hands down on either side of Thor's head and pounded him, vaguely hearing the floorboards creaking underneath them. He wondered for a second if he could literally fuck him right through the floor, and that seemed like an outstanding idea, but Thor was locking up around him, crying out, and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe or think, and he came, and there was a reason someone had called this "the little death", because bliss stole all his senses.  He came inside his Thor, and that was all he needed to know.

 

Somehow time passed, and he slipped out of Thor, and lay next to him in the wreckage.  They said nothing, drifting together.

 

Something flashed brightly on the screen, and this time there was the thud and rumble of an explosion in the near distance.

 

Something was happening nearby, then.

 

Ever curious, Loki rolled over to see the tv, resting his head on Thor's chest.  He had no dog in this fight, so to speak, but he lived in the world, and the world was seemingly at the edge of war again. 

 

One had to keep up, after all.

 

He reached down and stroked between Thor's thighs as he watched, trailing his fingers through the slick of his own seed.  It was an act of possession, and Thor acknowledged it, letting his legs fall a little further apart.

 

There was another explosion in the distance, farther away.  The tv news was at the first site already, and the cameras pivoted wildly to catch the smoke rising from a building, a cathedral, Loki thought.  Interesting.

 

"So," Thor rumbled beneath him.  "What shall we do now?"

 

He had not tensed up, and his voice seemed lazy, unconcerned.  Loki knew better, though.  Thor always did like certainties.

 

“Shall we watch the world burn together, then, my love?”  Loki murmured, and Thor’s head heaved in silent laughter beneath him.

 

“’My love?’” Thor said when he was finished.

 

Loki sat up and scowled at him, fine brows arched in mock outrage.  “You doubt my affections?”

 

“Last time we saw each other, you stabbed me with a butcher knife,” Thor said, rolling over to look at him.  “Broke two ribs and collapsed a lung.  Your affections run deep, Loki.”

 

Loki leaned down and kissed his mouth gently.  “They do,” he said.  He stretched out along Thor’s body, twining their legs together.  “In all the years we have before us, we will love and we will fight, and I will always come back to you.”

 

 “Is that all there is?” Thor asked, closing his eyes for a moment. 

 

“Truthfully?  All there is for us is _now_.  I can only make predictions.”

 

“Don’t,” Thor said, and kissed the smirk from his mouth.

 

*******

 

They wait until nightfall to go out.  Thor can withstand the sunlight without trouble, but it bothers Loki:  too bright, too hot, too overwhelmingly present.  It feels like the old times, walking into the gathering darkness together.

 

The city is restless, full of sirens and the smell of smoke. They let the crowds of people on the streets catch them up and drift towards the center district, feeling the excitement mounting all around them.  For all that they are predators among their prey, it is too hard to pretend that they are unaffected. 

 

Loki feels young, as he has not felt in more years that he would bother to count.  Thor’s eyes sparkle when he looks at him.

 

In the days to come, Thor will feel a resurgence of his desire to do good in this world, to save what few he can from humanity’s self-hatred.  It’s a new thing for him, and Loki will blame Jane for it later on, when Thor has endangered them both yet again on behalf of humans Loki would just as soon devour.  He will explain the irrationality of saving a species they use as food more than once, and Thor will grin at him and do exactly as he pleases.

 

Maybe it’s worthwhile, and maybe it’s not.  Maybe they will fight and split apart soon, or maybe they won’t.

 

Right now, holding tight to Thor’s hand, Loki is content to be where he is, watching the world go mad again, with his lover, his child, his enemy, and his brother right by his side. 

 

“Seems like old times,” he says, and Thor kisses him.

 

“Even better,” Thor promises, and Loki, for once, is inclined to believe it.


End file.
